Onna-bugeisha
by EmmylouFreebush
Summary: Eleven years ago, Izumi's father was killed by an assassin known as Hitokiri Battōsai. In a bid to avenge him, Izumi challenged the legendary swordsman to a fierce duel, the result of which was inconclusive. Now, in 1878, 10 years into the Meiji Era, she arrives in Tokyo after hearing her old foe has returned to kill again...
1. Prologue

Hitokiri Battōsai laid in wait for the three swordsmen who walked towards him. They were conversing in low voices, unaware of the danger that awaited them. The night was darker than usual due to the new moon. An advantage for Battōsai; the shadows were his killing field. He felt nothing, save for the desire to kill. These men were pro-Shogunate samurai warriors, resistant to the Revolution. They were the enemy. It was his job to eliminate them. Besides, his bloodlust was stronger than any sympathy he might have felt for them.

Silent as the shadows he hid behind, the manslayer adjusted his stance, his hand resting on his katana. The men did not see him, of that he was sure. But his breathing stopped almost entirely as one of the swordsmen paused. It wasn't fear. He had forgotten what that felt like a long time ago. It was more like anticipation. _He_ knew what was coming. That man did not.

"What is it, Takahashi-san?" one of the other men asked curiously, simultaneously placing his hand on his sword. He didn't look worried, not in the slightest.

The one named Takahashi did not answer at first. He had begun to move his head, scanning the area slowly. His intuition had told him there was danger; he had sensed the manslayer's presence. He would keep his sword close and his focus high, but aside from that he probably would not act on that sense.

"Perhaps it is nothing," he said, more to himself than his companions. He turned to the other two swordsmen. "Let's keep moving," he said quietly. His hand remained on his katana.

Battōsai's lips curved into a half-smile. Vigilance was good, but it wasn't going to save him. Silent as the shadows he hid behind, he prepared himself to strike. Setting his sights on the nearest target, he waited but a moment before he made his advance.

He moved with near-God-like speed, making his presence known to the men. By the time they turned around, though, it was too late for the first target. A crimson-red river of blood gushed from his throat. The manslayer had slashed his carotid artery clean in two. He heard the whistle of metal being drawn from the scabbards of the other two men as the dead one hit the ground with a thud.

The two remaining men engaged Hitokiri Battōsai. He responded without hesitation, driven by his craving for their blood. Within a few seconds, another had fallen, and the one named Takahashi watched in horror as his companion's sword arm was sliced clean off, followed by his head. The dismembered body fell like a stone, and Battōsai had dropped into a crouch-like position. His face was spattered with fresh, warm blood which dripped from the sword he held out.

Takahashi must have known it was a fool's errand, but he would live and die by the sword like the rest of them. He reengaged the younger, more superior swordsman. With a swiftness and skill that he had become known for, Hitokiri Battōsai not only dodged his opponent's attack, but countered with a resounding slash across the man's torso. Shock overcame Takahashi as the wound began to gush with blood, but he wasn't about to give up. Battōsai somewhat admired the swordsman's spirit, knowing he would have done exactly the same thing. But the wound had weakened Takahashi, making his movements slower and more desperate. The assassin dodged it with ease, taking aim for his opponent's neck. Surprisingly, Takahashi was able to avoid the strike just enough, but his dodge threw him off-balance. Battōsai took the opportunity in his stride, racing in with his near God-like speed to quickly slash his enemy's throat.

Takahashi gurgled and spluttered as he reeled back, but Battōsai could see in his eyes that he knew it was his time. Within seconds he had fallen like the others, taking in as much air as his blood-soaked body would let him. He might have come up with some profound last words, but something in the distance had caught his attention. A silhouette of someone approaching. In the end, Takahashi said just one thing before his final breath was spent. A name.

"I...zu...mi," he had stammered. Then he was gone, just like the two others before him.

Battōsai glanced up as the young woman approached him. From her features, he figured she was not much older than him. She was slight in stature and in build, and her dark hair was tied back in a high-sitting ponytail, not unlike his. In her right hand, she carried her _naginata_. But the bladed pole weapon was not all she was armed with. Battōsai caught sight of her katana, which was attached at her left hip.

Remaining at a safe distance from the manslayer, she surveyed the scene around her. It was slightly disconcerting how incredibly calm she looked, but Battōsai would never allow that to show on his face. Her eyes finally rested on Takahashi.

"Otōsan," she said quietly, bowing respectfully to her father's dead body. Finally, she acknowledged the only living man in front of her: Hitokiri Battōsai.

"You did this." It wasn't a question, and the manslayer did not verbally respond. He did not need to. The woman lifted her naginata, pointing the curved blade at the manslayer. A nonverbal challenge.

Battōsai sheathed his katana, but by no means was he backing away. Shifting into a low stance, he readied himself to face her. In response, the woman also shifted into a ready stance.

He calculated his first move carefully. The naginata was a much longer weapon than his sword, capable of striking and deflecting from a much further distance. His opponent's face gave nothing away, and so he could not rely on predicting her manoeuvres. Something about her told him that she would be a better match for him than even her father.

They moved at the same time, Battōsai using his legendary speed to his advantage in avoiding the incoming strike towards his neck. He drew his sword when he reached a close distance, but his opponent had reacted quickly, and so the slashing motion missed her. As he attempted each strike, she moved, adjusting her distance so that he could not close in on her. She would quickly follow up with a strike from her weapon, forcing him to defend himself. Their blades clashed, metal on metal, before the warriors moved away from each other. Battōsai had dropped into a low crouch. His opponent had adopted a strong, side-on stance, with the blade of her naginata pointing towards the ground.

 _She's fast,_ he thought. And she was just as cool-headed as he was. She raised her weapon slowly as he stood up. Their eyes met for a long moment. Battōsai could see the determination there, the desire to kill that echoed his own. She showed no fear, either. Their warrior spirits were evenly matched.

This time, he moved first. His speed gave her little time to react, but her own speed ensured that didn't matter. She made to strike him, but he dropped low to avoid it, skidding along the dirt. At the same time, his sword curved around. She reacted quickly, though not enough to avoid the blow completely. Instead of slicing through her throat, the blade hit the bottom of her cheek, slicing through the left side of her face. Meanwhile, his forward motion caused him to collide with her, and as she screamed, she fell backwards onto the ground.

Battōsai regained his footing as quickly as he could. His opponent had dropped the naginata. He raced towards her, hoping to strike a killing blow while she remained on the ground, but as he did, she drew the katana, using it to stop the strike in its tracks. She wasn't trying to push his sword away; just to stop it from reaching her vulnerable body. For the first time, he saw emotion. She was desperately trying to hold on.

The left side of the young woman's face was a grotesque picture. The flaps of split skin extended from the lower jaw all the way up to the upper brow. Even the eyelid had been cleaved in two. The whole thing was awash with thick, crimson blood. Battōsai suspected the eye itself had been damaged as well, though he could not see it beneath the lid.

He had been so absorbed with the wound that when his opponent drove her knee into his stomach, he had not seen it coming. He doubled back, rolling off her and resetting himself into his low-set stance. She had taken the opportunity to rise as well. Despite her injury causing a distinct disadvantage, she still seemed determined to continue. He could hear her heavy breathing, a sign of her pain.

It was fortunate that he would be putting her out of her misery.

Before either of them could move, however, Battōsai heard the distinct sound of thundering footsteps. He straightened, as did his opponent. She sheathed her katana before bending to pick up the naginata, all the while not taking her eyes off him.

"This is not over," she finally said. "I will kill you for what you have done, Hitokiri Battōsai."

The soldiers or police or whoever they are were close now. Battōsai could hear their voices. He sheathed his own sword as the woman he had been fighting disappeared, clutching her wounded face with her left hand.

 _Izumi_. That was what the man he had killed, her father, had called her. _Izumi Takahashi_. He would most likely see her again, and he knew as well as she did that only one of them would walk away from their next meeting alive. He would know her by the scar he had left on her face, a scar that he _knew_ would never heal, just as the cross-shaped scar on his own face had never healed.

Just before the approaching men arrived, Hitokiri Battōsai retreated to the shadows, running in the opposite direction to Izumi Takahashi.


	2. Chapter 1

_Tokyo, 1878_

Izumi wandered through the crowds of people in the streets, absorbing the vibrancy of the new capital. From shop fronts people bought and sold goods, while others went into restaurants and taverns to eat and drink. Some of them walked to their homes, or to the places where they had work, or to the inns they stayed at while passing through. It seemed as though each individual had a place to go.

Izumi envied them. Like many from the Samurai class, her livelihood had been all but destroyed when the Tokugawa Shogunate had been overthrown and replaced by the new Meiji Government. Swords were banned on the streets of Japan and swordsmanship rapidly became a dying art. Many a swordsman fought and died to protect their way of life, as swords were replaced with guns imported from the Western world. The Government called it progress. They believed Japan was united, and that adapting to the modern world would protect the country from potential invaders. But when the new world disadvantaged those who had once prospered, it was difficult for them to see the benefits of change.

Despite the strict impositions of the Meiji government, Izumi kept her naginata on her person when she walked the streets, the blade detached from the pole and concealed within a fabric case she had made from an old kimono of hers. As a swordsman, her soul and spirit were bound to her blade. No law that this government could create would tame her warrior's heart. Even losing her left eye had not stopped her. She remained, forever and always, one of the Samurai.

Instinctively, her hand went to the deep, permanent scar which ran down the entire left side of her face. Memories of the sword that inflicted it flooded into her conscious mind. She could see the face of the man who wielded it now. He had been so young, like her, but he was far beyond his years with the things he had done. She remembered a pair of deep, scarring cuts on his cheek which formed a cross-shape. She remembered the cold calmness in his eyes when he ended the life of her father.

 _Hitokiri Battōsai._ That was his name. An assassin on the side of the Imperialists. A skilled swordsman with incredible speed and a reputation for his level head in battle. A cold-blooded killer who showed no mercy. And the word on the street was that he was back from whatever hole he had crawled into after the Revolution. He had resurfaced in Tokyo and was killing again.

If that was true, then Izumi Takahashi had to stop him. They had been relatively evenly matched the night they met. If anything, Battōsai had the slightest upper hand on Izumi. But things were different now. Izumi had spent the last decade growing stronger as she trained herself to fight with her impaired vision. She had lived that part of her life in the wilderness, free from the rules and policies the government introduced to try and stop people like her. She _was_ ready to face him again. And this time, she would kill Hitokiri Battōsai.

In the distance, she heard a whistle. _Could it be?_ she wondered. She followed the noise in earnest. If it was him, she was determined to end this quickly before any more lives were lost.

When she arrived at the scene, what she saw was a group of policemen, armed with swords, trying to stand against a guy who was double in size and skill level to them. Izumi bit her lip, slipping the pole of her naginata from her back. Time was of the essence, so she had no time to attach the hidden blade. However, as a metal staff, the pole was capable of quite a bit of damage. Izumi was about to make for the turned back of the big swordsman when a voice yelled out. Out of seemingly nowhere, a young girl with a wooden sword leapt towards the big man.

 _Idiot,_ Izumi thought immediately. _She's going to take him on with that little stick. She'll be killed._

Sure enough, the girl was overcome quickly as the big swordsman sliced her piece of wood in two. Izumi raced forward as he made for the killing blow. At the same time, someone was running in the opposite direction.

It happened all at once. The big swordsman lowered his blade. Izumi stopped directly in front of the girl, throwing up her metal staff in defence of both herself and the intended victim. The other figure scooped up the girl and kept running behind Izumi to get her to safety.

Izumi's eyes met the big guy's. He was furiously trying to push his sword through her staff, but Izumi knew it would hold up. It was made to withstand the sharpest of blades. In fact, the guy was just blunting his sword by trying. Angling the staff, Izumi destabilised the man, who by this point had most of his body weight leaning into his sword. He stumbled and fell while Izumi scrambled away in the opposite direction. The police whistles were screaming out again, and voices were barking orders to catch Battōsai. The big swordsman used the momentary distraction to run off, but not before he yelled out in a loud, booming voice "I am _Hitokiri Battōsai_ of _Kamiya-Kasshin-Ryu_."

"Wait! No!" Izumi turned around at the sound of the panicked voice. The girl who had fought with the wooden sword was struggling against the hold of the man whose arms she remained in. "That's my family's swordsmanship style! He is using our good name to kill..."

She passed out, hanging limply in the man's arms.

"Courageous girl," he remarked gently.

He had his back to Izumi, but she knew immediately who he was. If the incredible speed with which he moved to save the foolish girl hadn't given it away, his vibrant red hair would have. It wasn't something Izumi had been able to forget. That red-headed swordsman had haunted her dreams for nearly eleven years.

Hitokiri Battōsai. The _real_ one.

He turned his head to glance in Izumi's direction. He had not changed much in eleven years. He wore his hair differently and his expression was softer. Still, enough remnants of the assassin of before remained. Izumi turned away, ashamed. She let her hair fall over her scarred face.

"You should get her to safety," she said blankly. The tears forming in her eyes grew heavy as the memories of that night flooded back into her mind. She used her makeshift strap to sling the metal staff back over her shoulder before turning to run in the opposite direction to what the fake Battōsai had headed.

"Wait!" she heard the red-haired swordsman call out to her, but she refused to look back. There was no way she was going to let Hitokiri Battōsai, of all people, see her tears fall. He wasn't allowed to have that satisfaction, even if he had just done an uncharacteristically good deed.

Izumi hid in a narrow alleyway, wiping the stream of tears from her good eye. She left her scarred left side alone. Hidden from the view of the police, Izumi slipped the pieces of her naginata over her shoulder, lowering them gently to the ground. There, under the cover of the afternoon shade, she attached the sharp blade to the polearm before covering it with the cloth again. She only covered it loosely, though, in case she needed to access it quickly.

Izumi thought of the man behind the killings. Telling everyone he was Hitokiri Battōsai was bad enough. He had neither the speed, the stealth nor the skill level of the true legendary swordsman. Plus, there was the motivation behind the killings. For some reason that big brute was intentionally trying to slander the swordsmanship style known as Kamiya-Kasshin, the style that poor girl had been trying to defend. The real Battōsai had never been that petty or childish. He had the wisdom of someone who had seen the horrors of war. In honesty, the man who was behind this wouldn't know the first thing about being Hitokiri Battōsai. Nonetheless, he was an immediate threat, and she was fully prepared to eliminate him.

A small smile crept across Izumi's face as she stepped into the light. She didn't care how many Meiji laws she was breaking at this moment. She would do whatever it took to end that worthless man's killing spree.

Then she was coming for the true Hitokiri Battōsai.


	3. Chapter 2

Carrying the brave young woman in his arms, the rurouni had followed the only lead he had to the Kamiya-Kasshin kendo school. He had carefully bandaged the girl's wounds before leaving her to rest. The two little girls, who he could only assume were her sisters, had been following him around ever since. They helped him to make _onigiri_ and miso soup for breakfast. Or, at least, they _tried_ to help. They put way too many vegetables in the soup, but he didn't mind so much. They treated him like a friend, and having been alone so long he appreciated that.

In the back of his mind was Izumi. He remembered her name from the pained way Takahashi had said it as he lay dying. He remembered her eyes, the calm and calculated manner in which she looked at him. He remembered her scream as the blade of his sword slashed the left side of her face. At the time it had satisfied him. Now, the memory conflicted him.

He brushed the thought of her aside whenever the little girls came back with more things to add to the soup. Despite his protests, they filled the pot with the vegetables anyway, and some of the soup splashed onto his face. But he couldn't be angry. They were just trying to help.

"What are you doing?" the familiar voice of the young woman he had saved demanded of him. He had since learned her name to be Kaoru. Kaoru Kamiya.

"Oh, you're awake?" he said warmly. "Your little sisters have been very helpful. I was just making some breakfast; would you care to join us?"

The little girls offered her one of the _onigiri_ rice balls. When she tried it, she looked startled. He worried, for he feared she did not like the taste.

"I don't like it when people can cook better than me," she complained. Now it was his turn to be startled, albeit relieved. A sigh escaped his lips, and he silently hoped she did not hear or see it.

The little ones were not, in fact, her sisters. They were the granddaughters of Dr Gensai, who had looked after Kaoru since her parents had passed away. None of them asked his name. They simply called him _rurouni_. It didn't occur to the red-headed swordsman to mind. Despite not knowing who he was or where he came from, they had all been so kind to him. Kaoru had even offered to let him stay at the Kamiya school while he was in Tokyo. It was such a generous offer, he found himself in no place to refuse.

Kaoru was the assistant master of Kamiya-Kasshin-ryu, a style of martial arts founded by her father. The idea of it was different from any other swordsmanship style the rurouni had encountered. A sword that brings to life and encourages the potential in people was a foreign concept to him, but it was an ideal he liked the idea of. After all, the reverse-bladed katana he carried was designed not to kill, but to protect. But it had not always been this way for him, and there was a young woman in town somewhere who knew this.

 _Izumi_ , he thought. Now that she had found him, would she desire to settle their old score? Would she pursue him if he took to wandering again?

 _I cannot think about that now, that I cannot..._

With the last of her students gone and her family's name tarnished, it was almost as though Kaoru Kamiya had nothing left to lose. Even at the cost of her own life she seemed determined to go after the man who called himself Hitokiri Battōsai.

 _She is no match for that man,_ he reflected. _If she goes after him he will kill her, of that I am certain. I cannot allow that to happen._

He knew what he had to do. He was going to find that man before Kaoru did. He would stop the killing.

A full moon lit the streets of Tokyo that night. A red-haired rurouni moved silently through the capital, searching for a killer. He felt a little bad having left the Kamiya dojo without letting Kaoru know, but it was for the best. He could not allow her to get hurt. He was sure it was not what her father would want. Her father would have wanted her to live in happiness, and to continue teaching the Kamiya-Kasshin style to others. It was apparent that neither of those things would happen while the man bearing Battōsai's name was still out there killing people.

"I take it you are looking for him too," said a voice behind him. _Izumi_.

He closed his eyes, stilling his breath so that he could speak to her calmly. "If you are here to kill me, I only ask that you give me an opportunity to stop this man from killing innocent people," he said. He turned around slowly to face Izumi Takahashi, to look upon her properly for the first time in over a decade. Her long dark hair covered the left side of her face almost completely, and her pale-tawny skin glowed slightly in the moonlight. Her expression was unreadable.

"I agree this killer must be stopped," she said thoughtfully. "My sword is yours to use as you will, Battōsai."

He tried his best to hide his shock. Her words had surprised him more than anything else that had happened that day. Izumi had just offered her service to her greatest enemy, to Hitokiri Battōsai. The rurouni sighed. He had not acknowledged ownership of that name for many years. "I would much rather you call me by my name, that I would," he said gently. "Himura. Kenshin Himura."

Izumi stared pensively at him for a long, silent moment before nodding slowly. "Very well, Himura-san," she conceded. "We should keep searching for this assailant."

Kenshin Himura nodded in agreement. He waited for a moment as Izumi tied her hair back. The light of the moon revealed enough of the left side of her face for him to see the deep running scar that extended from eyebrow to jaw, and to plainly showcase the damage that had been done to the eye. There was no possible way she could see out of that eye, yet she was prepared to fight half-blind. Her courage paralleled that of Kaoru, but Izumi had experience on her side.

Izumi bent down and picked up her naginata. The weapon emphasised her small stature when she stood beside it, but Kenshin knew better than anyone not to underestimate her. Doing so could prove fatal. The thought of her killing brought him to something of an impasse. Just because he had taken an oath not to kill, that did not mean any potential allies of his were restricted by this bond. Izumi could still kill the fake Battōsai or anyone he was working with, whereas if Kenshin was working alone there would be no death.

"I would rather not have bloodshed," he started. "If it is within our power to prevent further death, we should do that."

"Understood," Izumi said formally. She rested the polearm against her shoulder, lifting the end from the ground. "Let's go."


	4. Chapter 3

At first light, Izumi and Himura saw the first signs of the murderer and his followers. They had arrived at what appeared to be a base in the early hours of the morning, but aside from the pieces of split wood and hay bales which had been cleanly sliced by a sword, there was no sign of activity. As they headed back towards the Kamiya dojo, however, they caught sight of the bandits. Alarmingly, they were also headed towards the dojo.

Himura's eyes narrowed. "He must be planning to bring final ruin to Kamiya-Kasshin-ryu now that Kaoru-dono has lost her students."

"What drives a man to go to such great lengths?" Izumi wondered aloud. "He seeks ruin not for a particular person who did him wrong, but an entire style of swordsmanship, an entire way of life. What experience has he had with the Kasshin school that has prompted this?"

"Kaoru-dono cannot stand against that many fighting men with her wooden swords and childish play-talk, that she certainly can not" Himura said, furrowing his brow with concern. "However noble, Kamiya-Kasshin-ryu's principle of a sword that can revitalise cannot stand against the truth."

"Says the man who carries akatana with a reversed blade. Your _sakabato_ is not a reflection of truth either, Himura-san. Whatever reason you have for abandoning the life of a killer, there will always be people who do not share your idealism."

"I am aware of that, Izumi-dono," Himura said softly.

"I have decided not to kill these men, for the sake of your sensibilities," Izumi said. Indeed, she had detached the blade from her naginata and concealed it once again. It was fortunate they had decided to make this part of the weapon out of steel, rather than wood. Izumi had her father to thank for that. "However," she added, placing a hand on the katana on her belt. "I am more than prepared to go back on that, should I be required to. Are you prepared for the possibility you may need to kill again, Himura Battōsai?"

"No," he said staunchly. "I will never kill again, that I will not. Even if it costs me my life."

"Then you are just as childish as she is," Izumi muttered. Perhaps he always was, she reflected, though in their first encounter, Battōsai seemed mature for his tender age. It had been easy to forget that he was as young as Izumi, if not younger. Maybe even his persona as Hitokiri Battōsai was drawn from an idealistic and naive view that the Meiji government were fighting for a better world. At what point, Izumi wondered, had the idealism of a young man turned to an insatiable bloodlust?

"Let's go," Izumi said. "It may well be that Kaoru-san's life is in danger in this moment."

Himura nodded. He kept pace with Izumi as they ran towards the Kamiya dojo. Izumi just hoped they were not too late to save that fool of a girl.

Izumi made short work of the two men guarding the front of the dojo, knocking them out with her metal staff. She and Himura raced into the courtyard, and the bandits began to come at them from all directions. Izumi could see flashes of the old Battōsai as he moved lightning-fast to take out several men with a single swing of his sword. In the old days the ground would have been awash with the enemies of Hitokiri Battōsai as they lay dead and often in more than one piece. Izumi saw none of that now. The red-headed man who stood over the people he had knocked to the ground was a far different man than the one she had known.

Himura headed towards the entrance of the dojo. Izumi kept herself busy searching the remainder of the premises. If there were any hidden spies nearby, she would find them and give them the same treatment as their colleagues. To her disappointment there was no-one. The rest of the bandits had probably gone into the Kamiya dojo with their leader. It was likely most of them had been knocked out by Himura's sakabato. Her work here was done.

Izumi approached the entryway of the dojo just as a man ran out of the room screaming for help. She saw the leader of the bandits crumpled on the floor unconscious and surrounded by other unconscious men. Himura and the girl Kaoru were the only people standing. To Izumi's relief, she did not look too badly hurt. Himura had made it in time to save her.

Izumi's good eye was trained on the back of Himura's head. He really was a different man to before. A man who would risk his own life to save another. A man who carried a sword that could not kill. A man who held no attachment at all to the name Hitokiri Battōsai. _I came here to kill a man who no longer exists_ , Izumi mused.

"Izumi-dono?" Himura's voice called softly.

"Eh?" She hadn't realised he had turned to face her. The young woman Kaoru was also looking at her with curious eyes.

"We should talk," Himura said. "That we should."

"I'll make breakfast," Izumi volunteered hastily. "I'll only borrow your kitchen once, Kaoru-san. Then I'll be on my way, yes!" Before either of them could say anything she raced out of the dojo heading towards the kitchen she had found earlier on her patrol of the dojo. The police had arrived outside and begun apprehending the criminals and clearing them out of the courtyard.

Izumi made miso soup and onigiri for breakfast. She had been taught to cook by her mother when she was very little. Then, after she died, Izumi had done all the household cooking for her and her father. Even now that she lived on her own, she always found time to cook for herself. Needless to say, she was rather good at it. She had certainly had the practice.

By the time Izumi had finished preparing the meal, Himura had decided he was going to stay at the Kamiya dojo for a while to help Kaoru get back on her feet. As the police cleared out the last of the bandits from the dojo, including their leader Gohei, the fake Battōsai, Kaoru's close friend Dr Gensai and his granddaughters arrived. Izumi sighed with relief that she had made enough for them all to share.

"Izumi-dono, you're a much better cook than I am, that you are," Himura said upon trying one of the rice balls.

"You're certainly better than me," Kaoru said. "Are you sure you don't want to stay a while as well? You could teach me how to cook."

"I appreciate the offer, Kaoru-san. But in truth, I should return home."

"Where is home for you?" Dr Gensai asked.

"Kyoto. Or specifically, just outside of Kyoto. I live in the forest, in a place I built eleven years ago."

"You built your own house?" Kaoru said incredulously. "That's pretty amazing."

"Not really. I ran from my home many years ago, and when I returned, it had been destroyed in a fire."

"That's sad," one of the little girls, the one wearing a green kimono, said cutely.

"Sad," the other one, the one in orange, echoed.

"It's alright though. I have only one neighbour and even he lives some distance away. Though we do occasionally drink sake together. He is rather reclusive, but he's always looked out for me..."

"Seijūrō," Hiimura murmured, almost inaudibly.

"What did you say, Kenshin?" Kaoru asked.

"Nothing," he said. "I was only thinking, that I was."

"Well, Izumi-san. Even though you're not staying, if you are ever in Tokyo again I hope you will visit with us."

"Come visit, Izumi-chan" the girl in green said.

"Izumi-chan!" The girl in orange hugged Izumi's arm tightly.

"Of course I will," Izumi said, smiling warmly. "You have my word on that. I'll write, too, as often as I can. And you are all similarly welcome to visit with me if you are ever in Kyoto."

"We may just take you up on that," Kaoru said cheerfully. "Right, Kenshin?"

Himura, seemingly still deep in thought, did not respond.

"I must admit, it has been nice to see this other side to you, Himura-san" Izumi said. She had just finished cleaning up after breakfast when he had whisked her away, still intent on talking with her. They had left the Kamiya dojo and were walking alongside the river. "A different man to the one I faced all those years ago."

"I fear that man is not gone completely, that he is not" he admitted. "Some part of me will always be Hitokiri Battōsai. You know this, Izumi-dono."

"Seeing you now, how you are with Kaoru-san and those little girls, I don't want to believe it. But yes, I suppose I do know that in my heart. But as long as you remain who you are now, I can allow myself to believe that Hitokiri Battōsai is gone for good. Kaoru-san told me that man Gohei spent eleven years planning his revenge on the Kamiya school. It struck me hard, for it was about that long, if not longer, that I remained hateful of you. But my desire for revenge got me about as far as it got Gohei. Both of us were so consumed by our hate that we only lived half a life. But now, I want to live a full life, at peace knowing that Hitokiri Battōsai will never kill again. But just so you know if I ever hear that you have returned to the man you were before, I will not hesitate to kill you."

"If I return to being that man, Izumi-dono, I will hold you to that promise, that I will," Himura said. He stopped walking, turning towards the flowing river. "I regret many of the things that happened during the Revolution, that I most certainly do. What I do not regret, however, is that both you and I lived to see the end of it." He turned to look at her and smiled. "If we had met in this time of peace, I believe we would have been very good friends, that I do."

Izumi turned to face the river, watching the flow of the water. "We are friends now, are we not, Kenshin Himura?"


	5. Chapter 4

_The young woman tried to ignore the stinging pain as she stumbled through the forest. She had run like hell from the city, not even bearing to stop by her home to collect personal affects. There would be time enough for that later, provided the Imperialist army didn't see her father's death as an opportunity to burn the place to the ground. For now, though, it was too risky to go back there. It was almost certain that a resourceful assassin like Hitokiri Battōsai would find her there. She needed to recover the strength to face him again, to end his miserable life once and for all._

 _Her still-bleeding face was wrapped tightly in a piece of fabric she had cut from her kimono. She needed water to wash away the blood, to get its salty taste out of her mouth, to refresh her dry throat. She needed fire to heat the steel of her blade, to close the wound and stop infections. She needed rest, to lay upon the forest floor and forget about the pain just for a moment..._

No _, she admonished herself. She couldn't let herself rest. Not yet._

 _The sound of water caught her attention. A river. A stream. It didn't matter. It was water. And she was incredibly thirsty. She moved towards the sound, several times bumping into trees and scraping against bushes. The loss of her eye disoriented her now, but she would get used to it. She had realised the moment Battōsai's sword slashed into it that she would never see out of that eye again. Half-blinded with a scar that would never heal. That was her future. Still, if she had to choose between that and dying in disgrace, she knew there was really only one option._

 _Dropping to her knees at the river bank, she scooped mouthfuls of water in her hands, gulping them greedily. A few times she almost fell face first into the rushing rapids, dizzy with the loss of so much blood._

Fire _, she reminded herself. She was already beginning to grow cold, a sure sign she didn't have much time. She grabbed at the nearest sticks she could find. There was a technique her father had shown her to create a fire. She had nothing else, so she would have to use that. The thought of him almost reduced her to tears, but she willed herself to remain focussed._

Come on Izumi _, she urged, trying to still her shaking hands._ Just a little longer _..._

 _A single spark managed to catch fire, and Izumi rushed to nurture the small flame. Within a few minutes, she had managed to cultivate a small flame. Taking her smaller knife from her belt, she rested it within the flames. Her good eye struggled to focus on the flame. The lid had become so heavy, and she fought to keep it from closing._ If I sleep now, _she told herself,_ I may never wake...

 _With all her focus on keeping awake, she almost didn't hear the footsteps approaching her small camp. As the figure of a stranger began to approach, Izumi felt herself rapidly losing consciousness as she reached out to the silhouette, managing only to hoarsely whisper "help me" before passing out._

Izumi watched the river rapids run as she sat on the bank. The sun felt warm on her skin and the grass was lush and green, as though rejuvenated by recent rain. She had bypassed the city of Kyoto to come to this exact spot. The last time she had sat here, she mused, she had been in great pain and in real danger of dying there. Now, for the first time in more than a decade, she was completely at peace, her soul as full of life as the forest surrounding her. Beside her lay her father's sword, a symbol of his spirit which had never truly been laid to rest. More than anything, she wanted for him to be at peace as well.

 _Otōsan..._ Her hand rested on the sword gently. _I hope I have done right by you._

In truth, she wasn't sure if her father would have forgiven Battōsai his sins. He had been a good man with a good heart, but he also believed that once a man's honour had been lost, it was nearly impossible to regain it. Izumi had believed that once as well. In fact, it was seeing Kenshin now that had changed her mind on the subject. It left her wondering whether the story of the assassin-turned-wanderer would have swayed her father as well.

Perhaps it was something in the way the breeze swept her black hair back, exposing her injured face. Or maybe it was the way the warmth of the sun seemed to reach into the depths of her heat. Either way, it was as though, in that moment, she felt her dear father there beside her. It was different this time. Before, even the thought of him had triggered anger and pain. Now, her heart was filled with love and happiness, just like it had been when he was living. It was as though his spirit was at peace too. The thought made her smile.

"Did you accomplish your goal?" A familiar voice behind her asked.

Izumi shook her head. "No," she said. "The trail I followed was a false one, and somewhere along the way my goal changed."

"I see."

"It was not all a waste, though," Izumi added. "I found many unexpected things in Tokyo."

"Such as?"

"A girl," Izumi said, thinking of Kaoru Kamiya. "And a _rurouni_." Kenshin's red hair and sweet little smile came to her mind. "And a piece of myself I thought I had lost." She picked up her father's sword as she stood up, finally turning to face the one she had been speaking to. Hiko Seijūrō was a tall man with a strong physique. He was wearing his usual attire of a short sleeved gi and black hakama pants which were tucked into his boots, as well as the big heavy white cloak he always wore as the master of Hiten-Mitsurugi-ryu. He was twice Izumi's age, though he barely looked older than twenty. The majority of his jet-black hair was tied back, though the front fringe pieces blew freely in the breeze.

Throughout the last decade, she and Seijūrō had lived side by side in isolation from the rest of the world. Though he mostly kept to himself, he always seemed to be keeping a watchful eye over Izumi's recovery. The night she had come to that forest he had taken her unconscious and fragile body into his home and stitched her wounds, effectively saving her life. He had nursed her back to health until she had the strength to survive on her own, and even though she largely left him alone after that, she would often catch him watching something she was doing. He watched her when she built her house in the forest after discovering that her family home had, in fact, been burnt down. He would pretend to 'just pass by' as she sat in the sun making her own clothes. He had been watching as she learned to adjust to her new normal, adapting to only the use of her right eye and learning how to hunt wild animals. He had been there the day she had picked up a sword for the first time since that night. He had teased her about her lack of conditioning, and goaded her to come find him when she was ready for 'real' training. Every time he saw her, he had some comment to make about her small stature or how her swordsmanship wasn't up to his standard. Usually, she just ignored him, not having time for someone who only made comments on the sidelines rather than actually helping her improve. Looking back on it, it was often Seijūrō's comments that pushed her to try harder.

He was looking at her differently today. Normally he had a scrutinising look on his face, an obvious sign he was judging her. The expression he wore now was one Izumi couldn't read.

"Hiko-sama," she said. "What is it?"

"When I found you on this bank," he said contemplatively, "I saw a child, a little girl. Wounded, weak, driven only by her rage. I considered letting you die, and a few times over the years I wished I had, thinking you would have been better off dead than letting your anger consume and torture you."

Izumi nodded. There had been many a time in that ten years that she too had wished Hiko had let her die. Many times, she considered taking her own life, saving herself from her pain. But her will to survive had always won out, and her desire for revenge drove her. She had never thought about anything except killing Hitokiri Battōsai, as well as anyone who stood in the way of that. She had even wanted to kill _Hiko_ after finding out he was Battōsai's former master, but when she had made her rage-fuelled threat against him, he pointed out that she wasn't even close to his skill level, and hence did not have the ability to do any such thing.

"For ten years, you never stopped being that angry little girl," Seijūrō continued. "That seems to have changed. In front of me now is..." He paused, examining her one last time. "A woman."

He was right, of course. Hiko Seijūrō was nearly always right about everything. It was probably one of the reasons he was so full of himself. Still, it was endearing for him to finally see her as an adult. And Izumi knew Seijūrō well enough to know that it was the closest thing to a compliment she would get from him.

"Thank you, Hiko-sama," Izumi said. She gave him a polite bow. "If you feel like it tonight, come visit my home."

As she walked away from him it occurred to her. They had been neighbours for over ten years now, and this was the very first time she had even thought to invite him over to her house.

 _Amazing_ , she mused. _I really have changed._


End file.
